


This isn't a democracy (we're all survivors)

by Pepperish



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7058668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperish/pseuds/Pepperish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombie apocalypse AU!</p><p>Drabble 3 is up, guys :)</p><p>Octavia likes adopting things.</p><p>First, it's a cat. Then, a couple of chickens.</p><p>Bellamy starts to get worried when she sees fit to adopt an asshole.</p><p>(Or: The one in which Murphy finally appears)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alright, let's do this

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was not expecting to come back here so quickly after my last fic was posted, but.
> 
> Yeah, here I am. About this, I don't even know, a zombie apocalypse was in my head for centuries, but I didn't feel committed enough to any plot to try and write a full oneshot about it? Anyway, this will be a series of random drabbles in the same universe, in no mandatory timeline or theme. I just like this universe and want to toy around with it a bit.
> 
> (It's also nowhere near as heartfelted as my two last fics, so if that's what you're looking for, I don't know if this will satisfy you all that much)
> 
> I have this introduction and the first drabble written already, so I'm sure this will have at least two chapters. I hope you guys like it!

  It’s just Bellamy’s luck he’d be not only on the same microscopic city as the first reported cases of the infection, not even only in the same university. Of course he’d be goddamn roommates with one of them.

 “Fucking asshole,” he grumbles, entering the dorm room to find it twice as messy as it was when he left in the morning.  _Just great_ , Bellamy thinks,  _that’s what this day needed to be perfect_. “Dax, are you there? What the hell happened here?”

  Silence is his only answer.

  There are clothes and books littered on the floor, some glass shards where the lightbulb of his night lamp broke (Bellamy’s going to murder that guy) and weird black and red stains on the wall –  _is that blood?_

  His brows furrowed and, for the first time, Bellamy wondered if this was really Dax’s fault.

 “Seriously, dude, are you sick or something?”

  Before Bellamy can take another step inside, something pulls him by the arm and he stumbles backwards. The distorted, bloody face he can only see from his peripheral vision is enough to make him shake his jacket off and whirl to punch whatever  _that_  is in the face.

 “What the actual –” In front of him, snarling in disgusting and definitely unhuman sounds, is the bloodied face of what used to be his roommate. His eyes are glossy and there are actual chunks of his cheeks gone, but it’s undoubtedly him.

  Blood rush in Bellamy’s ears when the –  _thing_  makes a grab for him again, wide mouth open in his direction, and he dodges. Bellamy kicks him in the leg and frantically look around for some sort of weapon to use, but duvets and pillows hardly make for good weapons.

  It’s the worst thing ever because cheek-missing-cannibal-Dax is lunging at him again and Bellamy barely has time to press his hand against the uninjured cheek and turn his face to the side before he’s slammed against the wall.

  Bellamy tries kneeing him in the groin, but the other guy doesn’t seem to feel it and, if Bellamy needed proof this is an honest to God zombie in front of him, than this is it. The writhing body keeps pressing into him, trying to reach any part of him with hungry jaws and mindless fingers, but Bellamy manages to fight him off – even if his arms are scratched and his back is hurting like a bitch from hitting one of the bookshelves.

  Still, zombies are apparently as relentless creatures as The Walking Dead made them seem and, after sometime Bellamy's getting tired. He needs a weapon.

  _Eaten by zombie. Fucking perfect._

  He tries punching Dax again, hits him square in the chin with a nauseating sound of breaking bones, and the other guy’s jaw hang loose in an horrific angle.

 “Holy fuck,” Bellamy pushes him away, flings a book at his face and turns to try to find something better to use to cut his head off, but blood-caked fingers reach his shoulders before he can and Bellamy thinks,  _yeah, this is it, fucking awful way to die_.

  The bite, however, never comes. Instead he hears the wet slushy sound of brains splatting over the floor tile.

  He turns to find a tiny girl, smaller than Octavia, with an axe stuck into Dax’s head and hard-as-steel look in her eyes. It takes Bellamy a minute to recognize her. Of course he knows who she is, Clarke Griffin is Ark U’s resident princess and the Dean’s daughter, but with wild hair, purple blossoming in her cheekbones, several cuts on her arms and an axe in hands, she looks nothing like her usual self.

 “Were you bitten?”

 “What?”

 “Bitten,” she repeats, annoyed. “by sweetie over here.”

  He clears his throat and shakes his head a bit.

 “No.”

 “Great. We’re leaving.” Clarke turns on her heels and stalks through the unusually empty corridors and Bellamy barely has time to pick up his discarded jacket before going after her.

 “Wait, what do you think you’re doing?”

 “You’re welcome, no need to thank me for saving your life,” she says dry and looks at him from over her shoulder. “We need to get out of here before more of those show up.”

 “You sound like you know a lot about it, princess.”

 “I know a lot about everything, Blake.” The haughtiness in her voice seems out of place with her savage image, but it does make Clarke more like he remembers her from the Debate Club and it’s oddly comforting.

  She stops in front of the baseball prize shelf in the hallway and breaks the glass with the wooden end of her axe. Clarke grabs Harry Agganis’ baseball bat – an honorific gift Ark U received after he died – from the shelf and pushes it in his hands.

 “What makes you think I’m going with you?” Bellamy asks even while his fingers wrap firmly around the bat.

 “I need your pickup,” Clarke says easily and even manages to scrounge up a sly smirk. “and you need me. So let’s get moving.”

  He doesn’t question again and storms with her all the way to the parking lot, where his old, but huge, blue pickup is parked.

  Besides his car there’s already a group of people waiting. He recognizes Raven Reyes, genius from the astrophysics department, Monty Green, biochem, and Jasper Jordan, Math. Behind them, on the lookout, there’s Abigail Griffin and Nathan Miller. He shouldn’t be surprised Abby is there, being Clarke’s mother, but he double glances in her direction anyway.

 “You seem really confident in my need for you.” He remarks, dry.

 “I have a place for us to go and a pretty good idea on how we can survive this, so yeah,” Clarke squares her shoulders and look him dead in the eyes. “I’m really confident in your need for me.”

  Bellamy scowls in her direction.

 “Quit it, love birds. We need to leave  _now_.” Raven says and, just like that, they’re all jumping on the back of his pickup and Miller and Abby are propping Raven up because of her leg brace.

  Clarke makes sure there’s no threat around and that they all have their backpacks – Bellamy can see some food and a few pieces of clothing – before turning back to him.

 “Any more questions?”

 “We’re stopping somewhere before.”

 “No, we’re not. Bellamy, I know it’s too much information at once, but I’m not kidding. We need to get out of here. What happened to that boy inside is going to happen again and we do  _not_  want to be here when it does.”

 “Exactly,” It’s Bellamy’s turn to give her his back and he climbs easily into the driver seat, keys dangling almost teasingly in his finger. “I’m not going anywhere without my sister.”

  Clarke seems to weight her options and, after a beat, sighs deeply.

 “Ok, where is she?”

 “Thirty minutes from here, tops.”

  She rounds the car and props herself on the passenger seat.

 “Alright, let’s do this.” 

 


	2. Welcome to zombie apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia Blake was having a fine day – good even, if any day in foster care can be considered good – until her brother pulled up in the garage of her house at almost midnight.
> 
> She can hear the hum of the engine even from her room and is running down the stairs before she can think twice of it. Bellamy hasn’t even parked yet, but Octavia can recognize Daphne’s – the blue pickup he let her choose when he was eighteen and buying his fist car – roar anywhere.
> 
> (Or: Octavia can be a brat even at the brink of the end of the world. It's a talent.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, guys!
> 
> Like I said, here's the other chapter I had written. Thank you so much for reading and being kind (: I hope y'all continue to do so.
> 
> (I didn't feel like this story could keep going without Octavia Blake, so here she is)

 Octavia Blake was having a fine day – good even, if any day in foster care can be considered good – until her brother pulled up in the garage of her house at almost midnight.

  She can hear the hum of the engine even from her room and is running down the stairs before she can think twice of it. Bellamy hasn’t even parked yet, but Octavia can recognize Daphne’s – the blue pickup he let her choose when he was eighteen and buying his fist car – roar anywhere.

 “Bell!” She half-screams, half-whispers when he jumps out of the truck. “What are you doing here? They’ll be pissed if they find out you came before the weekend!”

  Octavia’s scolding him, yes, but that doesn’t stop her from running into his arms as soon as possible. Bellamy doesn’t say anything for a moment, just buries his face in her hair and breathes. Her brother is always affectionate, but there’s certain desperation in the way he’s holding on to her like a lifeline that makes anxiety fill her stomach.

 “Bellamy, what’s going on?”

 “I’m taking you out of here.” Bellamy finally lets her go, but his hands come up to cradle her face. His eyes are earnest and dead serious. “Take a jacket and some food if you can. You’re coming with me.”

 “Are you out of your mind? What about your college?”

 “O, listen to me.” Octavia’s eyes widen when she sees the pleading look Bellamy’s sending her. “Just, please – Please do as I say.”

 “Bellamy,” another voice creeps in, husky and hesitant, definitely female. Octavia whirls around to look at the girl, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and several cuts in her arms, sitting on the passenger seat. It’s only then she realizes Bellamy is not alone. And that he’s covered in blood. “We need to get moving.”

  The girl doesn’t outright say it, but her meaning is clear: _hurry the fuck up_.

  He looks at her and nods once. When Bellamy turns back to Octavia, she’s already squaring her shoulders.

 “Go.”

 “Ok, but after I’m back you  _will_  tell me what’s happening.”

  Octavia hurries back to her room and throws some sweaters, boots and a legging into a backpack. She stops by the kitchen to take all the fruits and bread she can easily carry and stops to grab some peanut butter before meeting the others outside.

  Bellamy is waiting for her, rooted on the exact same spot, but she notices he has a hand resting on the waistband of his jeans, over what looks like a .38. Octavia forces the sudden jolt of apprehension down and repeats in her head – _A warrior does not worry about that he can’t control_ – a few times.

 “I know you hate it,” she says, a teasing grin finding its way to her lips despite the unsettling circumstances, as she hands him the peanut butter jar. “but it will have to do.”

  Bellamy looks at her, the Supremely-Unimpressed-Blake-Look firmly in place, even if she can see amusement in his eyes.

 “Stop being a brat and get in the car.”

  She does as she’s told, squeezing between Bellamy and the blonde girl, and watches as her brother brings Daphne back to life. He pulls off quickly, hands tight over the steering wheel and feet a bit too gas-paddle-happy. The silence inside is smothering and Octavia notices the people on the back aren’t talking much either.

 “The rest of your family won’t come?” The blonde girl finally asks, looking at Bellamy tentatively.

 “They aren’t – uh, those aren’t our parents. Our mother died when Octavia was sixteen and she was sent into foster care.” Octavia feels a painful pang in her heart, seeing the way his jaw muscle ticks and his voice sounds strained. She knew just how much losing her guard cost to Bellamy, even if he was only nineteen himself and barely into college. The blonde lets out a soft ‘ _oh_ ’, but doesn’t say anything else. “They’re good people, but we don’t have the space.”

 “No, I get it.” The girl seems to contemplate this for a while before turning to her, lips curving slightly downwards. Then she turns to Octavia and offers a small smile, “I’m Clarke, by the way. Octavia, right?”

 “Yeah.”

 “You’re lucky. Your brother wouldn’t leave without you.”

 “Of course he wouldn’t,” Octavia smiles back, but she looks wolfish, all sharp teeth and teenage danger. “Blakes protect each other.”

  She can see Bellamy’s smirking from the rearview mirror and, when their eyes meet through the reflex, so is her. Clarke sniggers a little.

 “She’s your sister, alright.” She says to Bellamy and he glares at her, but it’s half-hearted at best.

  More minutes stretches on, bristle silence sitting with them like another person in the car as her neighborhood turns into a highway to the north.

 “So…” Octavia finally had enough of this. She pushes herself a little further over Bellamy’s seat so she can, at least, glare at his profile properly. “Mind to tell me why the hell you’re kidnapping me in the middle of the night like a psycho?”

  He heaves a deep sigh and looks miserable for a fraction of second, but answers:

 “Welcome to zombie apocalypse, O.”

  And, as far as explanations go, it’s a solid one.


	3. Adoption business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! How are you all on this fine evening? :)
> 
> I just wanted to thank you so much for your comments and support, I really appreciate it! Here's another short drabble - I know they're short, but that means I can make more of them without feeling like I'm drowning in the commitment of a long fic. Trust me, this is good, I'm awful with commitments - I hope you enjoy it as much as the others.
> 
> Love y'all!
> 
> (I'm always at tumblr, btw, I'm @pepperish there as well)

 Octavia likes adopting things.

  First, it’s a cat. Some orange, boney little thing with a guarded glare and a bad case of malnourishment, if his visible ribs are anything to go by, who likes to meow at the moon at 3 am.

 “But Bell,” She says, snuggling the little devil closer to her chest. “What if he’s eaten by a zombie?”

 “O, this thing is so scrawny he’s not even good enough snack for a zombie.” Octavia gives him an unimpressed glare, but Bellamy’s the master of those, so he glares right back.

 “We’re keeping him,” Octavia’s voice is final and Bellamy can only sigh.

  Later, Bellamy’s working on improving the fence when he hears Raven shriek, followed by a string of profanities and a very loud, “Who the fuck let a fucking cat in? Fuck!” And Octavia’s laughter like bells chiming. It does manage to take a smile out of him.

  Then, it’s a pair of chickens, but the chickens they can actually use for eggs – and other things, if things get bad enough, so no one complains, really. They just let the weird, feathery birds roam on the backyard and mend any spaces on the fence that they might use to escape and that’s it. Clarke enjoys throwing the corn they manage to scrounge up for them in the morning and Bellamy gets used to watching her do it. They don’t usually talk much, but it’s nice, dawn barely breaking, like this has been his normal life all along.

  Not, you know, fending off the zombies that manage to escape the town and migrate to their secluded hill.

  But when Octavia decides to adopt an asshole, Bellamy knows it’s time to stop.

 “I said no.”

 “Look at him!” Octavia yells, arms gesturing to the scowling boy who hasn’t talked all that much since the girl found him, bloodied and bruised, down at the river. “It’s not safe for him outside, Bellamy. We can’t let people die!” When nothing wavers in Bellamy’s expression, Octavia turns her pleading eyes to Clarke. “What do you think?”

  How has it become an established fact that both Bellamy and Clarke were in charge, he’s not sure, but it’s a fact nonetheless and all their make-shift family go by it. At first, he thought Abby would object, try to take charge of them, but. She didn’t. At first she argued with Clarke and tried to shield her, but as time wore on, Abby found herself trusting her daughter – and Bellamy, for some unfathomable reason – to choose what was right for them.

  Clarke stares at the boy, calculating eyes search him up and down, the way that makes her look so much like her mother.

 “Octavia is right, we can’t simply let people die.”

 “Clarke,” his voice is rough and low, but the tiny girl doesn’t mind his warning tone one bit, “it could be a scam. He can have back up waiting to find out how many of us there are and how are our defenses.”

 “And I’d have volunteered to be beaten like this and risk being used as live bait?” The boy snorts, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “smart plan.”

  Bellamy glares at him, but shrugs, mild.

 “Could be worth it, for a place like the one we have.”

 “I know that,” Clarke says, appeasing, a hand coming to rest on Bellamy’s shoulder. “I don’t trust him either, but – I don’t want this to define us. The world is bad enough already without it. I say we take care of him, make sure his injuries are ok and keep on the lookout. We have guns and we have Raven; if he has backup, I don’t think they’d be able to sneak up on us if we’re on alert.”

 “And after he’s better?”

 “We decide if we keep him or not.”

  Bellamy doesn’t like the idea, but Octavia is staring him up, fierce and angry, and Clarke has a point. Just because they’re in hell, it doesn’t mean they have to become devils. Bellamy’s already a monster, but if he can keep this people – his people – from turning into that, then he will.

  He steps closer to the boy until he’s covered by Bellamy’s shadow, shoulders tense and muscles pulled taut.

 “If you so much as look at any of them wrong, I’ll have your eyes for breakfast. Clear?”

 “Clear, _sir._ ” Despite the insubordination, Bellamy only glares for a moment longer and steps away.

 “What’s your name?” Octavia says, voice softer, eyes equally lethal.

 “John. John Murphy.”

 “Well, Murphy, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

  

 After Abby and Octavia manage to clean Murphy from the grit and caked blood until he resembles a human being again, they find out he has two cracked ribs and a few deep gashes on his calf and shoulder blade, but nothing lethal. They help him with a bit of medicine and keeping the wound clean, mostly, and he’s quiet the entire way.

  Raven looks at him borderline murderously, never bothering to hide the fact she’s one hundred percent against them taking him in. As soon as she comes in from the back, where she and Jasper are working on bullets for their guns, and sees him, she goes:

“Holy fuck, Octavia, it’s like the cat all over again.” Bellamy has to duck his head to hide his amused smile. “Where did you find this?”

“At the river.” Octavia answers, as if finding people randomly is just something she _does_. Bellamy certainly hopes this is not how it’s going to go.

“Hey, nice brace.” Is the only thing Murphy says and Clarke has to physically restrain Raven from throwing herself over him and punching his face in.

 Later, she just stands by Bellamy, scowl at the ready, whenever Octavia, Monty or Jasper are interacting with Murphy, and Bellamy only likes her better for it.

 The second day he’s with them, he helps Bellamy and Miller with small fixes they have to do around the house. Murphy can’t move much because of his ribs, but he works nonetheless, handing them the tools and using his free hand to hold what’s needed.

  Miller simply disregards his presence, shrugging when Murphy offers to help and giving him directions from time to time. When Bellamy asks, all he says is “if he’s not trying to hurt anyone, I don’t mind him. Guys like that are street rats, he’d be useful.”

 “How do you know that?”

  Miller only smirks.

 “Ask him why he was covered in blood when he got here sometime.”

 “Why?”

 “It was not his blood.”

   Bellamy frowns, but lets the conversation die.

  Later, when he’s sitting with Raven on the porch, rifles on their shoulders and looking out for threats, Bellamy observes Murphy with Monty. The Asian boy’s talking, as softly as always, and Murphy seems to be interested, if nothing else. He even cracks out a chuckle somewhere along the conversation.

 “Murphy.”

 “Yeah?” The boy looks over his shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised.

 “Why were you covered in blood when Octavia found you? Miller says it wasn’t yours.”

  He shrugs, nonplussed, “It wasn’t. I figured zombies recognized living things from the smell – you know, dead and rotting is not a very popular perfume – so I covered myself in the guts of one of them I killed. Got around a lot without being bothered.”

 Murphy turns back to Monty, who’s smiling encouragingly at him and ready to start trading theories. Raven looks even more displeased that Murphy managed to give them useful information.

“I hate him,” she states.

“Yeah, I don’t like him either.”

 Bellamy and Raven stay in companionable silence after, taking shifts at looking through the binoculars for some kind of disturbance.

 

 

 Two weeks later, they have to go for a raid. Bellamy has been hesitant on leaving the farm while Murphy could still have people waiting for exactly that, but, while they have canned food and some medicine, bandages are running low, the weather is getting colder by the hour and the small garden behind the main house will not endure much longer. It’s time for them to stock up and it may be too late for it later.

 Murphy rides in the pickup with Bellamy and Octavia, while Raven drives the rover they found with Clarke, since they all agreed throwing Raven and Murphy in the same small space would inevitably end up in unnecessary murder. Abby, Miller, Monty and Jasper stayed behind, both Miller and Monty on lookout duty.

 It’s supposed to be simple, they’re going to a small town a couple of hours down the hill, where they’ve been before. It may not have much to offer, but Clarke argued they might find some blankets and warm clothes left behind and anything else that hasn’t been raided yet, it’s worth the shot.

 Bellamy knows they’ll have to do a bigger mission sometime in the near future, but. That’s all he’s willing to concede for now.

“Eyes sharp, we’re here.” He says, aligning his car right behind the rover. Raven and him slow down until the roar of their engines is nothing but a murmur while they travel the ghost streets. Inside some houses, they catch glimpses from stiff movements, definitely the undead roaming, but not many are drawn by their noises.

 He parks on the lawn of a seemingly empty house, the rover still going to the nearer market, where Clarke and Raven are supposed to search.

 Bellamy turns to Octavia and Murphy, “you two guard the car and give me back up. If I don’t come back in half an hour, _go_.” He sees Octavia getting ready to respond and continues, “if he tries anything, put a knife in his head.”

 “Why are you always so graphic?” Murphy rolls his eyes, but his expression sobers when his eyes meet Bellamy’s. “I’ll keep her safe, boss.”

 “Shut up, Murphy.”

 “You both shut up. You can’t go in alone, Bell.”

 “Octavia, not now. We can’t let Murphy alone with the car. I’ll be right back.”

 “This is idiotic –”

  Bellamy doesn’t wait for her to finish, just opens the door and jumps out of the pickup. Octavia is glaring daggers at him, but she doesn’t follow and Bellamy takes a relieved breath.

  It doesn’t take long, there’s not much left in the house, but he finds a few blankets – _blankets_ , Clarke would be pleased, some half-full peanut butter jar (the universe is definitely toying with him) and a packet of old bullets for a handgun hidden under the mattress. All in all, things they could use.

  He’s taking the things out when he sees that Octavia has the upper half of her body out of the car, gesturing widely to him. The seconds it take him to realize what she means, are enough for him to be grabbed by a zombie from behind and tackled on the ground.

  Between blankets and peanut butter, he has too much on his arms to move his knife freely and it’s easy for the dead weight of what used to be a huge man pin him down.

   _Murdered for blankets_ , he thinks, contemptuously, _my death keeps getting better and better_.

  A shower of blackened blood hits him square in the face. Bellamy’s still sputtering when Murphy shoves the zombie to the side and urges him to get up,

 “C’ _mon_ , Bellamy, this guy has a lot of friends. You don’t want to be eaten for,” he eyes the contents in his arms quickly, “fucking blankets, right?”

  Bellamy scowls, but gets up as fast as he can, turning in the nick of time to bury his wrench in a zombie skull.

  Murphy helps him get the stuff on the pickup and only then Bellamy realizes the boy is covered in guts. Murphy climbs in the back and Bellamy pulls up, bringing Daphne to life full force with precise pressure on the gas pedal and speeds off to the meeting point arranged with Raven.

 “He was going in after you,” Octavia says when her breathing starts to come even again, “We saw the hoard coming and – fuck, Bell, I was so scared you’d die in there. I was already getting out, but Murphy said you’d probably murder him if I left the car to face the zombies myself.”

 “He was probably right.”

  He smiles, all soft affection for Octavia, for the sixteen year old girl showing in her eyes, where he got so used to seeing fight and bravado.

 “You’re an asshole.”

 “You’re a brat.”

  

 

 “I heard Murphy saved you today,” Clarke says, coming to sit beside him on the porch.

 “Doesn’t news travel fast when your society is composed by only eight people?” He smirks. Clarke laughs a little and Bellamy discovers that makes him pleased with himself. Clarke laughs so little.

 “Is it true?”

 “Could be,” he says, nonchalant, “or I’d have been just fine without his so-called help. I can handle myself.”

 “Oh, I’m sure.”

  Bellamy’s eyes drift to where everyone, even Abby, is sharing a bottle of wine Clarke and Raven found. It’s better than the battery acid Monty claimed to be able to pass as booze, moon-something he called it.

 “You should go have a drink with them.” He says.

 “Aren’t you coming?”

 “Someone has to be on guard duty. But you can go, you deserve it. It’s been hard, these past months.”

 “Yeah,” Clarke looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. Her face still sports traces of a soft smile, there, but not quite, and Bellamy thinks she looks young for the first time in quite a while. “So do you, by the way. You’re doing good here, Bellamy.”

 “We are.”

  The shadow of a smile on her lips stretch and Bellamy finds himself smiling back.

 “I’m glad he saved you, by the way.” Clarke gets up and starts striding to join the others, “I’ll come back in a bit. I may even be nice enough to bring you a drink.”

 “Noble princess,” he teases.

 “We’re keeping him, right?”

 “I’m thinking about it. I still don’t trust him.”

 “Such a grumpy old man.” He hears her mutter, but Clarke’s already striding away again.

  Later, she does come back and sit beside him, two mugs in hand and an apology for them not being fancy enough for the wine. Somehow, it feels familiar, like this has been his normal life all along.

  (Two months after they found Murphy, Bellamy arrives in the kitchen only to hear Clarke mimicking his voice, saying her favorite moments are when Bellamy’s all ‘ _shut up, Murphy’_ and everyone is laughing – even Raven. And yes, that means they definitely adopted an asshole.

  Damn, Octavia.)


End file.
